Scientia
by vaurienne
Summary: The first of a series dealing with Father Mulcahy's life and childhood.
1. Genesis

**Seven Swans**

Author's Note – As a character, Father Mulcahy has always been one of my favourites. That no doubt puts me into a minority, but to each their own, after all. Still, as I've grown up from the kid who watched MASH reruns (I was born after the series ended) to the university student who writes fan-fiction because I don't have cable, Father Mulcahy's stuck with me. Of all the characters, we know perhaps the least about his childhood, but somewhere there had to be something, some series of events, that led him not only to Korea, but also to the priesthood.

Perhaps overly ambitious, this series of seven stories is the story of Father Mulcahy's life as I imagined it during time that I should have been doing schoolwork… (But then when isn't that, so I hope I can be excused!) I sincerely hope not to offend anyone, but I've tried as best I can to be realistic. Only parts of the sixth story (_Timor Dei_) and the seventh story (_Pietas_) will feature any of the other familiar characters. I hope I can be forgiven for this.

Feedback is always greatly appreciated, but I wrote this story as much for my own exploration of the character as for anything else. Let me know if you read it, if you like it, or even if you hate it. I promise not to be offended.

Oh, and there are some continuity issues on the show as to Father Mulcahy's full name. I've chosen, for various reasons, to go with John Francis Patrick Mulcahy.

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_Scientia_ – Genesis

"Sit down, Kathy," Ann ordered in frustration, pressing her hands into the small of her back in an attempt to relieve the pain that seemed to have permanently settled there. "We'll all be late to Mass if you don't let me finish braiding your hair." Trying to get six children ready for Mass while being almost nine months pregnant was no small task.

The feisty girl, the youngest until the latest addition to the Mulcahy family was born, stuck her tongue out at one of her older brothers and dropped herself back down onto the chair in front of her mother. "Wasn't me," she protested, crossing her podgy arms over her chest.

"I know," Ann sighed, picking the brush up and running it through the child's curly hair. It was always one or the other of the boys causing trouble. Matthew had been in trouble with the sisters at school last week for skipping class. Mark revelled in catching bugs to put down the backs of girls' dresses. And Luke just wouldn't sit still for more than two minutes at a time. "Heaven help me if this one's a boy too," she murmured, quickly beginning to plait the other half of the girl's hair.

"When's the baby coming?" Kathy demanded, starting to fidget again. Ann always blamed the little girl's restlessness on the influence of too many older brothers. The other two girls, Mary and Brigit, were the oldest of the bunch and rarely spared much time for their young sister, instead leaving her to play in the mud with the boys.

"Maybe not for a while yet," Ann answered cautiously. "But good things come to those who wait."

"'lizabeth got a baby sister last week," Kathy reported, bouncing up and trying to turn around. A firm tug on the end of the almost finish braid reminded her not to squirm. "I'd like a baby sister."

"How about a baby brother?"

"I don't like brothers," Kathy replied, wrinkling her nose. "They yell too much."

"All little babies yell, even sisters," Ann told her, reaching for the ribbon hanging on the back of the chair to tie off the end of the braid.

"Then I don't want a sister either," Kathy declared, jumping off the chair as soon as the bow was tied, the ends of the bright ribbon trailing behind her. She shot off down the hall, intent on not missing a moment of anything that might be going on.

"It doesn't work like that," Ann sighed again, arching her back in an attempt to stretch out the sore muscles. She looked at the clock above the stove, shaking her head. Despite her best efforts, they were still going to be late unless they left within the next few minutes.

"Boys, do you have your shoes on?" she yelled down the hallway, snatching up her scarf and tying it over her head.

"Mama," Luke complained, rushing into the kitchen, "I'm hungry."

"We'll have breakfast after Mass, the same as always," Patrick declared, appearing from the single bathroom down the hall, his face freshly shaved. "Now don't bother your mother. She's tired."

"Shoes on," Ann directed firmly, pointing down the hall. "We have to leave." The boy reluctantly turned to walk down the hallway.

"Everyone ready?" he asked, coming up behind her and rubbing her shoulders.

She leaned back into him, inhaling the scent of his soap. "I hope so, because I'm not up to chasing after them this morning."

"Why don't you stay home?" he suggested. "You can slip away to the evening Mass. I'm sure that I can handle the kids for an hour."

"And leave you alone trying to get them all to the Church?" she questioned in good-humour. "You'd never get them there. You'd probably lose Mark to the bugs. Brigit would start daydreaming and wind up at the school instead of at the church. Luke would be off chasing some stray cat and Kathy would be after him like a shot."

"At least Mary and Matthew would still be with me," he noted with a fond smile at his wife. "Last week you thought I'd be left with only Brigit."

"Yes, well, last week we were on time for a change," Ann replied, easing herself away from him and starting to head toward the front door. "I can't imagine how."

She only got a few steps before her hands were pressing against the pain in her back again. "Well," Patrick noted, taking her arm and leading her back to the kitchen chairs, "it appears as though there will only be three of the Mulcahy clan at Mass this week." He leaned down to kiss her cheek as he helped her sit. "Mother will want to be by to check on you," he told her, "and if you're feeling well enough later, she'll see you off to the evening Mass herself."

"What do you think of the name John?" Ann asked, looking up at her husband as he stepped away from her.

"John Francis," he told her tenderly after a moment. "Saint Francis was a quiet saint and the Lord knows that we could use some peace around here."


	2. Exodus

Author's Note - I had intended to keep with the whole theme of sevens with updating this story. But I had this installment ready early and thought the election of a new pope was a worthy enough occasion to update the simple story of a humble priest.

The Latin prayers are from a 1962 missal and the translated text can be found by searching online. I decided not to provide the translations in order to keep with the Pre-Vatican air of mystery.

The next installment (planned for a week from today) will show some of the young John Mulcahy's personality, for those anxiously awaiting that.

_Scientia _– Exodus

The smell of incense hung heavy in the air as it always did, infusing the small church with the scent of tradition and a thousand Masses already celebrated. The priest, his black cassock overlaid with his white and violet vestments, extended his hands out toward the tiny infant clothed in a long white gown.

"_Preces nostras, quaesumus, Domine, clementer exaudi_," the priest intoned, the Latin words falling softly on their ears, "_et hunc electum tuum, Ioannes Francis Patrick cruces Domincicae impressione signatum, perpetua cirtute custody; ut magnitudinis gloriae tuae rudimenta servans, per custodiam mandatorum, ad regenerationis gloriam pervenire mereatur. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen."_

In the pews, the older Mulcahy children fidgeted as they watched the priest conduct the ceremony that would induct their newest sibling into the faith. The older children had been through this several times already and were anxiously awaiting the joyful family gathering they knew to come afterwards. The younger children, with no firsthand memory of the small feast that followed, had long ago lost their attention with the long, solemn service they could not understand.

Ann fixed them all with a stern gaze from the front, near the altar, as she held the one child who was behaving properly. The fidgeting quieted for a moment, then Mark reached out to pull the end of Kathy's braid, only to be slapped away by a vigilant Mary.

"_Omnipotens sempiterne Deus_," the service went on,"_Pater Domini nostri Iesu Christi, respice dignare super hunc famulum tuum, Ioannes Francis Patrick, quem ad rudimenta fidei covare dignatus es: omnem caecitatem cordi ab eo expelle: disrumpe omnes laqueos Satanae, quibus fuerat colligatus; aperi ei, domine ianuam pietatis tuae imbutus, omnium cupiditatum foetoribus careat, et ad suavem odorem praeceptorum tuorum laetus tibi in Ecclesia tua deserviat, et proficiat de die in diem Per eundem Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen._"

Only a week old, tiny John Francis Patrick Mulcahy had been given a share of an impressive heritage. His name stretched back generations, across not only the Mulcahy family tree, but also the history of the Church. Three saints had lent their names to the future of the sleeping infant.

"_Ioannes Francis Patrick Mulcahy, ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_."


	3. Leviticus

Author's Note -- Hmm... It's three in the morning, I have 400 pages of reading left to do before my final tomorrow afternoon, and I can't remember the difference between xylem and phloem... But it's been seven days, so it's time to update! (Can you tell I'm excited about the study break?)

Thanks to everyone that's reviewed! The feedback is very much appreciated and aside from that, it's nice to know that I'm not the only Mulcahy fan out there.

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_Scientia _– Leviticus

The sun shone down cheerfully on the schoolyard as groups of children gathered, laughing and talking as they waited for the bell to ring, signaling the start of another school year. The black-robed sisters mingled among them, chatting with the returning students and being introduced to their newest charges. Most of these new students had been placed in the care of older siblings.

Long practice helped the sisters pick out personalities based on how those youngest children held the hands of their older siblings. A few were shy, clinging protectively to not only hands, but also trousers and skirts. Some were more adventurous, being held in place only by the firm grasps of their keepers. And then there were those being dragged forcibly into the yard, reluctant to begin school for their various reasons.

"I don't want to go to school," one of the latter declared firmly, kicking up dust as his oldest sister pulled him toward the school doors.

"Yes, you do," she told him impatiently. "And don't drag your feet. You'll scuff your new shoes."

"Don't care," he replied petulantly as the bell rang.

"School was all you could talk about last week," she snapped, watching the other students scurry toward the doors, shepherded along by the sisters.

"I changed my mind."

She rolled her eyes and tugged harder on his arm. "You don't have a choice. You have to go. Now hurry up or we'll be late."

"I don't like school," he asserted, planting his feet firmly and refusing to take another step.

"You haven't tried it," she retorted, bracing herself to yank on his arm again.

"Just leave him, Mary," another girl said, pausing as she rushed past the pair. "You got him this far; the sisters will round him up sooner or later. But if you don't hurry, we'll be late, and we've got Sister Augustine this year."

"Come on, John," Mary hissed, using both hands in a final attempt to forcibly bring him the last few yards up to the building. The obstinate six-year-old responded by plopping down to the ground, thwarting any further efforts.

"I had to give up on Jamie," the other girl told Mary, gesturing out into the schoolyard where another boy sat staring up at the sky. "If you leave him, we can still make it inside before the tardy bell."

With a disgusted look, Mary dropped John's hand and declared, "You'll really get it now, John, and just see if I care."

He didn't reply, instead looking up at her defiantly. After a second, she broke away with a sigh, running toward the building with her friend. She left him sitting in the dust, his gaze turning to the group of black-robed women waiting just outside the school doors.

The two girls hurried past the sisters, issuing breathless apologies as the tardy bell rang. The sisters scattered into the school toward their waiting students, and the two boys were left unaccompanied for the moment. The second boy scuttled closer to John, announcing, "I'm Jamie."

"I'm John," he answered, looking critically at his disheveled companion. "Why don't you want to go to school?" he questioned after a moment.

"I don't like inside," Jamie revealed, sifting a handful of dirt through his fingers and squinting up at the sun.

"I don't like the sisters," John reported matter-of-factly. "My brothers said they're mean."

"Maybe that's because your brothers don't behave themselves," a voice interjected from behind them. The two boys spun around to stare with round eyes. "What do your sisters say, Mr Mulcahy?" the sister asked, arching an eyebrow delicately beneath her black veil.

"Kathy doesn't like having to sit with the other girls," John told her, regarding her with the same critical gaze.

"Well, Katherine would rather play baseball with the boys," the sister answered cheerfully. "What about Mary and Bridget?"

John shrugged and folded his arms over his chest. His two oldest sisters loved school, but he wasn't about to admit that. He knew that it would have proved the sister right, and experience with his own siblings had taught him the disadvantage of doing that.

"And you, Mr. Connell?" she questioned. "Why don't you want to go to school?"

"I don't like inside," he repeated, poking holes in the dirt with his fingers. "Ma don't let me bring bugs inside."

"We don't have any bugs," the sister told him, bending down to look him in the eye, "but we do have a fish in the classroom to study. What if I let you feed the fish every morning?" As she asked, she reached out to pull his hand out of the dirt.

Jamie thought about it for a minute, squinting up at the sun and then looking back toward the sister. "Some fish eat bugs," he conceded. "And one time I seen a big fish eat some little fishes."

"Saw," John corrected. "And there's no such word as 'fishes.'"

"That's not quite true," the sister replied briskly. "We have two fish if they're both the same kind. We have two fishes if they're different kinds." She stood up, Jamie's hand in hers.

"But you only have one fish," John remarked critically.

"Why don't you go inside, Mr. Connell?" the sister suggested, releasing his hand and giving him a nudge in the direction of the building. "Sister Benedict will show you the fish."

Jamie took off eagerly toward the building, waving back over his shoulder at John. John watched him go before turning back to look up at the sister standing over him. He stared up at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something else. But she didn't, instead smiling at him and folding her own arms over her chest, echoing his pose back to him.

The two regarded one another curiously for a few moments, each waiting for the other to be the first to break the silence. "Why are yours so big?" he asked after a moment, unable to restrain his curiosity.

"Why are what so big?" she countered.

"Your beads," he answered. "They're really big. Bigger than my mom's."

"Well," she replied, lifting her rosary up and away from her cincture, "they're not just beads." She held it out toward him, and John stretched his hand up toward it, but she held it up just out of his reach, even as he climbed to his feet. "Why don't you come inside, and I'll show you?" she suggested.


End file.
